Night had silently settled over Yokohama, a deep, velvety darkness that made even the Agency's offices, on the other side of the city, seem calm and peaceful. A light breeze drifted through the open window of the small apartment Dazai and Chuuya shared, one of the few places where chaos didn't reign at every moment.
His room was dimly lit, illuminated by the silvery glow of the moon filtering through the curtains. Dazai slept as always: lying on his back, his hair spread across the pillow, one arm around Chuuya's waist. A soft, steady purr emanated from his chest: the instinct of a predator when it feels warm, safe, and snuggled up next to something precious.
Chuuya used to make fun of him for that.
"You sound like a motorboat," he muttered.
And Dazai would reply, "Just for you, Chibi," before snuggling closer and purring louder on purpose.
But tonight, something wasn't right.
Subtle. Strange.
The moon shifted. The air grew colder. And as the night wore on past midnight, a faint glow—like a silent pulse of light—came over Chuuya's body. He didn't move. He didn't feel the change spreading through his skin, tightening like a thread shrinking.
He simply… got smaller.
Tiny.
Until Chuuya Nakahara, gravity manipulator, former executive and current husband, measured only 3.5 inches tall.
Still fast asleep, curled up in the exact same spot but instead of the mattress, on the pillow, but now barely the size of Dazai's thumb.
He seemed calm. Small. Oblivious to everything.
And very, very close to Dazai's face.
Dazai, still unconscious, stirred. His predatory instincts sharpened. Predators always slept lightly, alert to the slightest scent or movement, especially the borrowers. His sense of smell, keen enough to track even the faintest trace across the room, throbbed at the presence of something small, warm, and alive.
Something he loved.
Something he wanted to have close by.
A soft sound escaped Dazai's throat, something between a purr and a sleepy hum. His lips parted slightly. His tongue instinctively slid out, brushing against the pillow.
And then-
He grazed Chuuya.
The tiny man let out a sleepy grunt, barely audible, stirring without waking. Dazai's tongue slid easily beneath him, enveloping him as if he weighed nothing. The pred's mouth opened wider, his sleeping body obeying only instinct: soft, automatic.
Chuuya stirred slightly only when the warm, slippery surface lifted him up.
“Mmm… what the—!?”
His eyes snapped open just as the darkness of Dazai's mouth closed around him.
"DA—!"
The rest of his scream faded as Dazai—his eyes still closed—softly sealed his lips, savoring the gentle warmth within. A deep, contented purr coursed through his body. His tongue reflexively curled around Chuuya; he didn't crush him, only envelop him in the soft, moist warmth of a predator's instincts on autopilot.
"Dazai! DAZAI! Wake up—mmph—HEY!"
But the predator didn't hear him. Not consciously. He simply tilted his head back slightly and swallowed.
A slow and natural gulp.
Chuuya felt himself being squeezed downward, dragged through the tight, rhythmic muscles of Dazai's throat. He slid helplessly but safe, down the esophagus, screaming and writhing as he felt himself moving, the world around him becoming an ever-narrowing tunnel of warmth and pressure.
From the outside, a small and smooth squirming bulge descended through Dazai's throat before disappearing beneath his collarbone.
Moments later, Chuuya tumbled gently into the soft, warm space of Dazai’s holding stomach— the pred's pouch-like chamber designed precisely for this purpose. Safe, but one where he couldn't escape.
“OH, FOR THE— DAZAI, YOU MORON!”
His voice bounced uselessly off the fleshy walls.
Above him, Dazai let out a pleased purr and squeezed a pillow tighter.
Chuuya planted his tiny hands on the warm, pulsing wall of the stomach-pocket and kicked in frustration.
“I swear Dazai, when you wake up, you are dead.”
In response, he could feel the faint vibrations of Dazai's snores and soft purring.
// // //
MORNING
The sunlight warmed the bedroom.
Dazai stretched, yawned, and blinked slowly, staring at the empty mattress beside him.
"Huh?" he murmured. "Where's my beloved spouse? My little tempest? My compact ball of fury?"
He sat up, his hair sticking out in all directions, looking around the room.
“Chuuyaaa~? Have you run away again? I promise I’ll only remind you of it for the rest of your life.”
Then-
squirm.
Dazai froze.
Slowly, his hand slid down to his abdomen. The slightest movement wriggled beneath his palm.
A very familiar movement.
"Oh," he said with a dawning realization. "Oh, no."
He lifted his shirt slightly.
A clearly squirming bulge was pressing outward.
"Chibi? Is that you?"
From inside: “YES, OF COURSE IT’S ME, YOU ABSOLUTE MORON! LET ME OUT RIGHT NOW!”
Dazai grimaced, his ears slightly flattened with guilt. "Ah. I ate you in my sleep, didn't I?"
“YES! YOU DID! YOU F—ING MACKEREL!! LET ME OUT ALREADY…!”
“Ah. This is kind of romantic if you think about it...”
Chuuya kicked the stomach wall.
“I SWEAR TO GOD—”
"Okay, Okay, hold on, I'll get you out of here," Dazai said, gently rubbing the squirming spot soothingly, his tone apologetic. "But... you're awfully small, aren't you?"
“YOU JUST REALIZED THAT?!”
Dazai’s brow furrowed.
“Chibi… why are you so tiny?”
“How am I supposed to know?! Maybe you did something!”
Dazai gasped dramatically. "Accusations? From inside my body? How rude!"
He earned another kick for that.
But beneath the humor, worry fluttered in Dazai's chest. He pressed his palm more gently against the pouch.
"Are you hurt?" he asked in a low voice.
Chuuya paused.
“…No. I’m just annoyed. And slimy. And stuck.”
Dazai let out a soft sigh of relief.
"Okay," he said warmly. "Let's get you out of there, my little husband."
“Don’t call me that.”
“I’ll stop once you are out.”
"You're never going to stop, are you?"
"Nope."
Dazai's stomach gave a small gurgle, —not from hunger, but from Chuuya's renewed, restless squirming.
Hi, I can’t really remember the last time I made a request but I saw a post saying they were open for you and I was wondering if you could potentially do a T!Chuuya x G!Dazai fan art with potential fearplay/fluff if you are okay with it. Otherwise just some fanart is amazing because I love your art in general and I love your art for them too. Thank you for taking the time to read this message and I hope you have a wonderful day/night.
Here you go! Although idk if it fullfils the actual fearplay you wanted?
Anyways have a giant dragonZai and a human Chuuya :3 (I decided to Swap the roles of that dragon au just for this ask)
Borrower Dazai but it won't have anything to do with the borrower au I'm making. Anyways, if you want a second part tell me, but I don't know if it will have it.
Word count: 1.3k (short ik)
TW: Angst, Major Character death, Sad End
Dazai Osamu was three inches tall and impossible to ignore.
He was a borrower by species, a fluttering wisp of mischief and wit with hair like falling shadows and a smile full of secrets. Most humans had never seen someone like him before — even if he'd spent most of his tiny life right beneath their floorboards. He lived in the Armed Detective Agency now, nestled in a teacup turned bedroom on top of Fukuzawa’s bookshelf. Nobody quite remembered when he had arrived — except Odasaku. Oda had found him first, years ago.
Dazai was six then, barely past the age where his voice was a squeaky chirp. Oda, just eleven, had been reading alone on the steps behind a worn-down library when something brushed against his shoulder — a faint weight, like the wind had decided to rest. And there he was: tiny, curious, hollow-eyed, and brave.
Now, nine years later, the Agency knew Dazai as a fixture of the office — a flicker darting between potted plants, hopping over keyboards, and stealing sugar cubes from Yosano’s coffee when she wasn’t looking. He perched on Oda’s shoulder during mission briefings, swung from Yosano’s hair when she let him, and occasionally napped in Fukuzawa’s inner coat pocket.
But mostly — mostly — he annoyed Chuuya.
And Chuuya let him.
Every day was like clockwork.
Chuuya would come in, fed up from nothing in particular, and sit at his desk, fuming at papers or trying to stay calm as Yosano made some comment about his hat. A few minutes later, a soft whoosh would rustle his hair — and Dazai would land like a feather on his head.
"Good morning, hat rack,” he’d coo.
Chuuya never flinched. “Good morning, pest.”
Dazai would slide down his collar and swing himself onto his shoulder, legs dangling.
“Your aura’s tense today,” Dazai would murmur, one hand on Chuuya’s ear. “Bad dreams? Or just the usual ‘I hate the world’ funk?”
Chuuya would roll his eyes. "Shut it."
But Dazai wouldn’t. He never did. He'd pick at Chuuya’s tie, climb into his collar, curl up against his throat and mutter nonsense like, “You should moisturize. You’re getting old skin wrinkles,” and “You’re warm. I think I’ll hibernate here.”
And Chuuya — well. Chuuya would blush. Sometimes, if nobody was watching, he’d touch a finger gently to Dazai’s side, cradling him against his shoulder. He’d hold him there — careful, protective, as if the tiniest pressure could shatter him.
Dazai liked to press kisses to his jawline. Soft, impossibly light. Like the air itself was fond of him.
One time, in the quiet of dusk, Chuuya bent his head and gave Dazai a kiss right on his little head. Just once.
Dazai didn't speak for two minutes after that. For Dazai, that was a miracle.
“I broke you,” Chuuya teased.
“You fixed me,” Dazai said.
They never talked about what they were. Not properly. But everyone knew. Even Fukuzawa looked the other way when Dazai slept in Chuuya’s hat on bad days, wrapped in a square of silk like a sleeping cat.
And Odasaku — well. Oda never pried. He’d just smile, calm and knowing, whenever Chuuya walked by his office with Dazai curled up on his shoulder, and say, “Be gentle with him. He has a small heart.”
Chuuya would roll his eyes.
But he listened.
---
Then came that morning.
The air was too quiet.
Chuuya had woken to a strange stillness, like the whole building was holding its breath. He shrugged on his coat, stepped into the Agency’s main floor, and blinked. No sudden wind. No teasing voice. No feet pattering across his shoulders.
He looked around.
“Dazai?” he called. Nothing.
Maybe he was with Oda. Or asleep. Or...
Chuuya jogged to his desk, dropped his hat, and peered into the teacup Dazai used as a bed. There he was — curled beneath a folded tissue, arms drawn in close, like always.
Chuuya smiled, some tension leaving him.
“Oi. Wake up, ya lazy brat. I know you’re faking it.”
He reached out a finger and nudged Dazai’s side.
No movement.
“Dazai.”
He nudged harder.
Still nothing.
His smile dropped.
“Dazai—?”
He touched his chest gently.
There was no rise. No fall. No warmth.
Chuuya felt the blood drain from his face. “No. No, you’re just sleeping weird. You always do this. You little— come on, wake up—!”
He lifted the tiny body with trembling fingers. Dazai’s arms drooped. His head lolled slightly. And still — no breath.
“No,” Chuuya whispered. His heart slammed against his ribs. “No, no, no—!”
He grabbed his hat, stuffed Dazai’s still form inside with trembling care, and bolted from the room, barely breathing.
---
The door to Odasaku’s office slammed open.
Oda was sipping tea at his desk, a book in hand.
“ODA!” Chuuya’s voice cracked like glass.
Oda stood instantly. “What happened?”
Chuuya ran to him, breathless, his eyes wide with panic and tears. He held out his hands — his hat cupped like a cradle. Inside, Dazai lay limp, still.
“He won’t— he’s not waking up— Oda— please—”
Oda’s tea cup hit the floor, forgotten.
He reached down slowly, carefully, as if any sudden movement might make it real. Gently, he lifted Dazai’s body into his palm, held him close to his chest, and listened.
Chuuya held his breath.
Oda's jaw clenched.
"...No heartbeat."
“No, no, no,” Chuuya whispered again, stumbling back. “You’re lying— he was just talking to me yesterday— he was— he kissed me goodbye— I felt it—”
Oda set Dazai down on a folded handkerchief, hands shaking in a way Chuuya had never seen.
“I don’t— I don’t understand,” Chuuya said, voice cracking. “He was fine. He was fine, Oda—!”
“I know,” Oda said quietly.
They stared at the body in silence.
His limbs were still soft, his face peaceful. Like he had simply fallen asleep mid-sentence. No signs of sickness. No sign of pain. Just… stillness.
“I’ll check him again,” Oda murmured, voice low and hollow. “Maybe there’s still something— maybe—”
But they both knew.
Borrowers didn’t always die like humans. Sometimes their hearts just… stopped. Quietly. Like birds falling from the sky mid-flight. Nobody knew why.
Chuuya sank to his knees beside the desk. “He promised— he said he wouldn’t leave— he said we’d go to the coast someday— he said—” He choked. “I didn’t even say good night. I just— we argued about soup— I said he was annoying—”
Oda crouched beside him. “He knew.”
“I didn’t get to say it—” Chuuya’s voice splintered. “I never got to say it.”
Oda looked at the tiny body again, his hands in his lap.
“I think he heard it,” Oda whispered.
---
The funeral wasn’t official.
They buried Dazai in a matchbox in the little garden behind the ADA, near the hydrangeas he always climbed in spring.
Fukuzawa said a few words. Yosano didn’t speak. She just left a pink ribbon folded beside the box. Ranpo didn't come out, but later Chuuya found a sugar cube with a smiley face drawn in icing beside the grave.
Chuuya stayed long after everyone else left.
He knelt there, hat in his lap, wind in his hair.
“I loved you,” he said to the box. “You dumb, tiny idiot. I loved you.”
He reached into his coat and pulled out a folded slip of paper — something Dazai had given him weeks ago. It was shaped like a heart, no bigger than a coin. Inside: a doodle of them, Dazai perched on his shoulder, and the words: I’m gonna haunt you forever, Chuuya-chan~ ♡
Chuuya laughed, then cried.
---
Life moved on.
The ADA carried forward. Missions resumed. Oda started mentoring a new recruit. Rain came and went.
Chuuya kept Dazai’s teacup on his desk, always clean. His hat never felt quite right without that tiny weight on top.
Sometimes, at night, he’d wake up and swear he heard fluttering near his window. A breeze against his ear. The faintest whisper.
